Choice of Leniency
by Justine Themis
Summary: When Merlin is poisoned by the sting of the Serket, the Great Dragon returns to help the young and stuggling warlock. But first, the Great Dragon gives Prince Arthur of Camelot the choice as to whether or not to save the life of a warlock. Set after 3X01.


**Author's Notes: A one-shot (though, of course, my one-shots are never short) set between 3X01 and 3X02. I actually started writing this after the first episode aired, but have only now just finished it having finally updated my other fanfiction, Gratification. ****Luckily enough, the space between the two episodes gave me a welcoming chance to post this up. It kind of fits, I guess.**

**~ Spoilers of episode 3X01 (and end of season 2, I guess). You be warned. ~**

***Dedicated to my (real-life) sister: Nada Themis – who I have successfully made obsessed with Merlin and its bromance****.**** And for her help with my Merlin fanfictions in the past.***

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******Choice of Leniency  
**  
**By Justine Themis**

_The rapid flutters of air that ran through the warlock's hair woke him__,__ only briefly__,__ from the deepened slumber that wrestled him. His eyes still heavy, his lids refused to open even by the slightest inch - so he instead relied completely on his faded and weakening senses. Air continued to beat against his face, harsh and cold so that any exposed skin felt numb against it. But he could not tell where he was; he could not see and the only smell he could pick up was the pureness of clean air. Yet there was a thumping sound, a loud and heavy sort of heartbeat that surrounded him, believing it to be his own - but it was different, slower and steadier unlike the erratic pounding he could feel against his chest._

_Then the pain struck. The agony that ran through him felt as if his insides burned and melted and he was sure that the hollowing cry of agony that echoed around him was his own. His back was the core of the pain, feeling as if it had been stabbed by the sharpest of blades; the excruciation coursing like a slow fire, building and seeping through his body as if it were the blood in his veins. He tried to struggle in hope of escaping the pain, to be rid of it, but he realised his movement was limited, his body wrapped in a tightened coil that dug into his arms and waist. Panic was quick to set in, slowly followed by a building confusion and shrill of determination to know what was happening around him. _

_With a sudden rush of will, the young warlock managed to pry a single lid open; but his slight was fogged and blurred - all that he could make out was a large__,__ earthed silhouette that moved above him, apparently being carried by whatever held him between a loose but firm grip and leathered skin. He tried to call out to whatever large and looming figure hung above him, but all that escaped his lips was a strangled mumble of incoherent words that barely surpassed the loud thumping of the wind._

_A sudden shot of pain bolted through his body, cascading up his spine and threading through his being; a headache that felt as if he had been blundered by a mace set in, blinding his senses and drowning him in a dark pit of darkness that dragged him back in the pit of unconsciousness once more._

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Arthur had been pacing Camelot's village for quite some time, slowly and mindlessly as if a toyed puppet while his mind seemed to reel in every direction of his alternating thoughts. The young prince was filled with worry over his father's illness, never before had he seen the King so distressed; slowly seeming to be losing his mind. It worried the prince, and he was sure it was slowly starting to worry the villagers. As he passed them on his stroll, some gave him small, wary smiles filled with a sort of admiration - but Arthur could see the sympathy that hid behind the masks of those who knew too much for their own needs.

He didn't know what to do; what to say to the people who gave him looks of such questioning - for he did not understand it himself. And yet Gaius expected him to take control of the Kingdom? _Him?_ There would be no way; no matter what the fates had decided, he could not do it. To except responsibility over Camelot would be to except the end of his father - whether be his sanity or not – and he refused to do such a thing when he needed him most. He was not ready. He was the rightful heir, yes, and he would be ready to uphold his responsibilities when the time was right, but that was not now. He could not abandon his father, but he could not ignore Camelot of a guided hand. Choosing his father against his entire Kingdom - he could not deny to choices was dismaying.

Sighing in deep frustration, Arthur kicked at the ground with his foot, sending up a small cloud of dust around his feet. He was starting to feel the stress but into his muscles and it was exasperating. If no-one of Camelot could conjure up _some_ explanation of his father's disease, then he would simply have to decide upon it himself and find some sort of answer.

He paused, "How on earth..." When his thoughts became his own again, Arthur realised he may had walked a little further than he had anticipated. He realised that he had somehow, more unconsciously than anything, made his way to the border of the forest that surrounded the village. He had not meant to, yet the sight of far-lined trees that sunk into their own abyss stood before him.

Arthur considered turning back – the idea was more instinctual than anything – but he suddenly felt drawn to wonder the woods. He did not need to nor did he want to; he had to stay in Camelot in order to be of any use to his father. But there was an indescribable gut-feeling that seemed to want to pull him into the forest, as if he just _had_ to go in and venture the open space, as if it called to him in an odd sense of abnormality. There was curiosity rather than caution that subdued his feelings at the thought.

Without really contemplating it, his legs moved and he was walking at a slow and wary pace through the first lining of tree before being completely shaded by the forest and its leaves that hung so highly above, cutting off any rays of sun that tried to break through, like a caverned arch.

It was instantly quiet. The breeze was nothing but a whisper that played with the prince's blonde hair and danced off to a stand-still. Any creature that had been once been cluttering along the uneven ground were now gone, hidden between the shades of it own secrecy and away from the prince's eye. Arthur did not find much of this questionable; a forest like this, especially on such a day, where accustomed to silences like this – it was just simply a mockery of how it could be so serene considering the infelicitous events that where happening back in the King's own chambers.

Yet as he wandered deeper through the woods, a suddenly sense of suspicion slowly began to creep inside. It was beginning to become _too_ quiet; _too_ peaceful for such a place to _not_ seem particularly suspicious. Unfortunately, that did not stop the Crown Prince from continuing his walk, further and further until he began to question the road of his way back.

It was then that a gush of wind blew over him, not intently strong but definitely unexpected, and his senses were suddenly alerted. Reaching for the hilt of his sword - suddenly thankful that he had brought it - he felt the earth below him quake in a gentle and faint vibration and his steps instantly softened into an almost tip-toe over weeds and roots that covered to ground. The heavy breeze was back, swirling steadily around him like a spiral, almost pulling him further into the forest. It was no longer an 'unconscious act' that he had once believed; he was literally being pulled, not harshly but defiantly against his will, in a random direction that he knew no business about.

Arthur unsheathed his sword and held it tightly between a calloused hand should anything decided to jump him - he did not feel threatened so far, but could not give any benefit of the doubt should it risk his life. In the far off distance, he could see the faint glow of what he assumed was a grassy clearing, one illuminated by the sun and most likely where he was supposed to be heading. His steps became steadier as he approached the clearance, threading through thick and thin trees and bushes as the wind flew in behind him, seeming more and more eager to direct him to the clearing.

Finally, he stepped through two equally parted trees, his free hand guarded above his eyes as the suddenly bright sunlight blinded him, allowing his vision to slowly adjust to the rays before his eyes widened in utter shock.

He froze, a sudden breath catching in his throat.

Before him, spread across the far and long meters of the grassy field, was a _dragon_.

His mouth gaped. It was one nearly half the size of the tallest tower in Camelot, its skin thick and leathered so that shone like maple in the sun. A pair of scaled and webbed wings sat neatly tucked up against its back and its form steadily heaved in gentle rhythm. Yet its eyes were clearly and visibly closed, blind to the world, its head lying peacefully on crossed feet; its gargantuan body was curled into a sort of "U" shape, giving Arthur the unusual sense that this... creature was, in fact, _asleep_.

Time had seemed to stop around Arthur as he tried to remember the fighting strategies he and the knights had built in Camelot when going against a mythical beast. He had only ever seen a dragon once in his lifetime - and relentless the memories where not something he wished to recall - and had been positive it would be the only encounter he would have to endure. He had been so sure that he was responsible for destroying the last and final dragon in existence; and yet here before him sat another, so heedless and reluctant to the world around it.

Stunned, Arthur's body seemed have gained a mind of it's own again as the prince's legs stumbled back - and how badly had he tried not to make a move - a unsteady foot coming down on a inconvenient twig that broke with a undignified _snap_ behind him, instantaneously bringing him back to his senses and realised how incredibly _stupid_ the action had been.

Of course, the small noise also seemed to have disturbed the dragon from its own peaceful slumber, and its scaled body began to shuffle and twist until finally its leathered lids flew open. Bright topaz eyes met the princes and Arthur seemed to be trapped in its gaze; contemplations of escaping or fighting hit him briefly but he decided to simply wait as the dragon's head lifted slowly from its feet. A look of astounded amusement seemed to fondle the dragon's expression - much to Arthur's unruly surprise - and the prince could barely begin to think before the dragon _spoke_:

"Well, young Pendragon, I was beginning to wonder how much longer you were to keep me waiting."

Arthur opened his mouth to speak, a lump forming in his throat, but almost instantly closed his mouth and gained his posture, a frown clear in his brow as his grip strongly tightened around his sword. The resembled of the dragon was uncanny, the way its face seemed to smirk at the heir of Camelot was all too familiar and anger filled the prince as he shouted "_You!_" His voice was a mixture of disbelief and fury that seemed to overpower his previous shock as he stared at the possible same Great Dragon that had once attacked Camelot.

However, the outburst only brought a low and heavy laugh from the dragon as it threw back it's diamond-shaped head in great amusement, "It would not be wise to arm yourself so foolishly against me, Arthur Pendragon, I fear that your weaponry hold no effect on myself," his smirk melted as a sign of discountenance played on the dragon's aged features, "I would highly suggest putting away your toy, or would you rather I detach your limb instead?"

The fighting stance Arthur was subconsciously holding relaxed, but only slightly, and he lowered his sword. A few slow seconds passed before he stubbornly slammed it back into the sheath that hung from his belt.

The dragon spoke again, highly amused by the prince, "Well, at least you are being cooperative," and the beast shook his head.

"You're supposed to be _dead_!" came Arthur's rather sudden reply; he had not much time to consider his answer before the words had left his mouth and whether or not he regretted them – as his words could very much easily be what decides whether or not this dragon devours him whole – but was more drawn to thought on his loss of hostility.

"And, as you can see, I am not," the dragon said blandly. Its body slowly began to rise, the grass and dried leaves around it swirling off in the wind as it sat back onto its hind legs, its front ones keeping it upright and towering over the prince. The dragon noticed the prince's baffled expression and spoke, "You are rather naïve if you thought such a dwindling blow by such an inferior blade would kill me." And this received another dark chuckle from the dragon.

Arthur flinched rather involuntarily at the insult but was replaced by utter confusion, "But…" His thoughts droned off as he remembered that night. Regardless, he had been knocked out having stabbed the dragon – the same that stood before him – but he had been told that the strike had killed the Great Dragon, mortally so. In fact, _Merlin _had told him, and there would be no reason for his man-servant to have lied.

The dragon seemed to notice his confusion – as if it could read his mind - and smiled, "Oh yes, the boy," he began, and if a dragon could sigh, he did rather deeply, "that is actually why I bring you hear, young Pendragon."

"And why is that?" the prince bit back.

The dragon's face became solemnly thoughtful just as it picked itself up onto all four of it's legs, standing at what Arthur would guess was 'up-right', and moved in a careful motion to the side in a few minor steps – the earth quaked slightly beneath the Prince.

Arthur continued to give his oblivious and baffled demeanour as the Great Dragon moved itself, waiting cautiously to what the dragon had meant and how on _earth_ it was in any relation to Merlin. However, his expression faded into a tight mixture of horror and shock and his eyes widened just as the dragon's long and stealthy tail moved along to grass.

Hidden behind it lay his man-servant, Merlin, led on the grassy earth in a more than awkward fetal position. For a moment, Arthur wondered if he simply asleep or knocked out, but the painful expression the boy wore told him other wise.

Merlin's skin was a deathly pale; sweat covered his scrunched brow as his face showed clear signs of agony. His body writhed slightly, not convulsing, but enough to plant a large amount of panic into the Prince's heart. He could see his friend was having much difficulty breathing – unconsciously Arthur exhaled a breath he had not himself realised he was holding – and was clearing hurting for some foreign reason.

The sight of his possibly wounded manservant had sparked a boiling fury that flourished over his surprisal and the words left his mouth before he could even consider the consequences, "What have you done to him?"

The Great Dragon's scaled brow rose seemingly, looking offended at the accusation, "I can assure you, Pendragon, this is not my doing," Arthur's mouth opened in protest but the dragon's words silenced him, "I'm afraid the boy has been poisoned by a Serket."

The anger within Arthur dematerialised, over-run with a newer sense of worry that surprised even him, "A Serket?" The name was familiar, but no picture came to the Prince's mind.

A few minor moments passed before the dragon nodded gently, it's large head lowered more closely to the paled boy that lay limp next to it's talon-armed feet, "Creatures that resemble that of a scorpion; their sting is small but their poison is rather deadly," the dragon gave a rather unneeded chuckle, "Believe it or not, Pendragon, their poison used to be that of healing properties. But humans got selfish and conceited and they turned their ways to death."

Arthur glared at the dragon having heard its laugh – how is any of the situation humorous? - but brushed it aside, "So Merlin's been _poisoned_?" he asked, the threads of worry still blundering his mind.

"Exactly," came the dragon's response, "and a Serket's sting can not be cured with that of modern medicine."

The Crown Prince thought over this momentarily before a single thought clicked, somehow flaring up his fury once more, "Then why did you call me here? So I could watch him _die_?" There was both pure disgust and apprehension in his voice as the thought of reaching for his sword again passed his thoughts.

The dragon became, once more, offended at the accusations; though the expression melted to almost that of _agreement_, "That depends, young Pendragon."

"Depends on what?" he spat.

"On whether or not you wish to save him."

Arthur could not believe his ears at this and he was sure his thoughts showed through. Did the dragon _seriously_ believe that he would not want to save his man-servant? He's saved the dolt once before from poisoning; so why on _earth_ would he simply shrug his shoulders and _leave_? "You're _joking_, right?" Not exactly the response he wanted to give, but the idea was ridiculous.

Unfortunately, the dragon was not seeing anything particularly antic and his expression remained quite serious, "I am not," it said as the Great Dragon turned it's ochre eyes to Merlin, "The boy can only be healed with magic, something I possession and can quite easily do… but only if you will it, young Pendragon."

"So you're betting a man's _life_ on my decisions?" Arthur shouted back, clearly outraged.

"I am _betting_ on whether or not you would save the life of a warlock."

Arthur wasn't sure he heard the dragon right as his reply froze in his throat. He did_ hear_ the word "warlock", right? Merlin had been accused of sorcery several times before in the past, but this was just ridiculous. After a few moment, Arthur let out a rather forced laughed, "Merlin? A sorcerer?" and gave the Great Dragon a rather smug look, "You think because the idiot was stung by some Serket that he's suddenly a sorcerer?"

But the dragon became slightly angered at this, "Do not humour yourself, young Pendragon. A warlock and a sorcerer are not the same kind, and I would not bring the boy here to make jests," its large eyes widened so that the gold of its iris' shone, "Serket's are very susceptible with their poison. Humans would last no longer than a few seconds should they be stung. But those of magic… they have the ability to fight the poison for only a few hours so that they can find a cure and save themselves," its gaze narrowed at Merlin, "Unfortunately, it seems the boy is over-reacting and has closed himself off."

The prince pondered this, but still came to the same reasoning that the Dragon was lying – though he couldn't fathom why, "So, just because Merlin is still alive, he's suddenly a _sorcerer_?" This was becoming even more ridiculous! What kind of _idiot_ did the beast take him for?

The Great Dragon gave the prince a look that showed its growing impatience, and Arthur could tell the dragon was becoming more and more agitated with the prince's constant questioning (not that he cared, he wanted answers and he _damn_ well was going to get them!).

"I have told you why I bring you here, Arthur Pendragon," the Great Dragon began, his voice loud and booming so that the prince felt himself involuntarily flinch as the air shuddered, "And I have told you about the boy. Whether or not you choose to believe me is up to you."

"Then I choose not to." Arthur said blandly, his head raised much higher to show both his authority as Crown Prince of Camelot and to also be able to stare directly – at an angle - into the dragons ochre eyes, "How am I to be sure this is not some treacherous scheme?"

The Great Dragon's leathery lips twisted into a smirk, "I would be careful there, young Pendragon, your distrust is slowly turning to that of your father's." And when the dragon noticed the prince's fists clench by his side, his knuckles slowly turning white, the dragon laughed, "What is your choice then, Arthur Pendragon?" There was a deathly serious tone in the dragon voice.

For a moment, Arthur bit the inside of his bottom lip, trying with much difficulty to withhold his anger from igniting and most likely getting himself – and Merlin – killed. Instead, he breathed a long and deeply needed breath and addressed the dragon with slow words, "Heal him," he said finally, "and _leave_ this kingdom before I change my mind in running your through."

The Great Dragon rose its leathered brow, a mixture of amusement and possibly disbelief on it's diamond shaped face, "So, you choose to heal the wounds of a warlock?" There was a slight hint of something Arthur could not describe in it's voice.

"I choose to heal the wounds of a dying _man_!" Arthur yelled, irritated by the dragon's deliberate distractions – his man-servant's (and friend's)_ life_ was on the line, "I don't believe for one minute what you say is true…" the prince muttered, his eyes hardening.

Again the dragon chuckled, "That may be, but bare in mind, my words are either that of truth or false. Are you willing to take the chance of whether or not the boy is a warlock for the sake of his life?" The dragon was prepared to wait for the Prince of Camelot to reply, but the answer came within seconds of his spoken words:

"I am."

And at this, the dragon breathed a long and heavy sigh of what Arthur was sure he had mistaken as relief, "Very well, I will heal the boy." He gave a somewhat coxed bow towards the prince, "You may leave now." And with that, the dragon stretched a long and scaled claw towards Merlin limp form and proceeded to gather him into its hold, its leathered wings flaying out from it's back and flexing.

Arthur mouth gaped, his irritation building up once more, (_that was all?_) "But-!"

"I will return the boy to you soon enough," the dragon spoke assertively, it's wing flapping harsh at each push against the winds, "But not at this moment in time. I fear if he were to wake up with you in sight… well, it would bring many undesirable questions." Seeing the prince opening and closing his mouth as he tried to think of some kind of protest, the dragons wry smile widened, "Do not think I bring _you_ any ill harm, young Pendragon. I did not bring you here to boast or torment. But the words of a destiny are never a clear thing, and there are some matters that I sometimes wish to be sure of myself." And at that, the dragons wings began to beat with unbeatable power behind it, flaying clouds of dusts and grass from the ground so that Arthur had to raise an arm to defend his eyes.

And when the young Prince of Camelot looked back, the dragon – and Merlin – were gone.

_What destiny?_ The prince found himself shouting in his head, having been unable to ask the dragon on its words. Looking up into the sky, he could not even see the retreating form of the Great Dragon, and he stood, wondering and revelling his own deepened thoughts, on what the true intentions of the dragon had been. Whether or not the dragon had been telling the truth… well, he would dwell on that that. He just hoped – only secretly – that Merlin would return back healthy and _not_ on the edge of death.

He still had questions he wanted to be ask. Why the dragon came to him? Why he betted Merlin's life on his choice? Why the dragon left so _damn_ quickly? Why-!

Shaking his head, Arthur decided it not best to give himself a headache over it. One day, he would get his answers, but it seemed that today was not that day. And, instead, he left – without so much as looking back - through the arch of the forest's abyss and began his return back to Camelot.

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**A.N: Slightly OOC… and slightly boring at the end… I think I got lazy then :P  
****Now I shall get back to working on Gratification and its generally confusing plot line and writing… or maybe on the fanfiction Nada want me to write… or maybe something completely different… hmm either way, I'm writing something… or maybe I'll just go watch some anime or something.**

**Any mistakes are completely my own, because I do think I got lazy by the end.**

**Thanks for reading,  
****Justine Themis**


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